


Absence Makes the Heart...

by wakandan_wardog



Series: The Theory Of Magic [4]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Infinity War AU, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character(s), Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Past Christine Palmer/Stephen Strange - Freeform, Pining, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: Stephen Strange goes away for awhile, to combat magical threats and train new proteges as needed. Tony Stark misses him, and maybe he does a few sentimental things... like wear Stephen's clothes, and sleep in his loft... and trade stories with his ex. But Tony's not pining. He's not.(He is.)





	1. Chapter 1

Tony should be focusing. Should be bending his will and his attention and his time into building or breaking or reforming something. If he called up Pepper he’d be willing to bet she could list a dozen things for him to handle without taking a breath. She’d probably start with how he should be focusing on paperwork, on upcoming board meetings, on new prototypes and field-testing recently modified tech. She might remind him of his new intern and encourage him to work on new projects for Peter, or with Peter, or both. She might even take him seriously regarding his comments about incoming threats, maybe even encourage trying to expand the munitions and features for upgrades to the suits.

Pepper could list a dozen things that Tony could be handling if he’d call her. Which is probably one of the many reasons why he won’t, along with the fact that he doesn’t want to disturb her while she’s running his company and she doesn’t deserve to have to put up with his bullshit anymore because they’re not together. They’re not together, so it isn’t Pepper’s job to help Tony pull himself together.

It should be Tony’s job, and he should be able to handle it.

Except.

Tony hasn’t seen Stephen in two weeks.

 ~~Two weeks, three days, eighteen hours and forty-five minutes.~~ No.

~~Forty-six minutes.~~

Two weeks, which shouldn’t be so bad. Two weeks is nothing. Fourteen days. He’s been on vacations that long. Hell, he’s been on business trips that lasted twice that.

Though, none since he began working with Stephen.

He’s certainly been on engineering binges for that length of time, might have even gone that long without sleep back in the eighties. Who could say?

But again, not since Stephen.

Which was, an interesting way to think of things. Maybe not the healthiest way, to invest so much of how one’s life was structured into the actions of another being. But it wasn’t as if Tony had done it intentionally, it had just happened. Somehow it had gone from Tony doing everything himself to seeking out Stephen’s help, Stephen’s advice or counsel or company. It had grown into something they did.  

Like the team should have functioned, but never had. Because the team had been Tony carrying everything, bearing the weight of it all alone. Working with Stephen was different, was a partnership. Had grown from mutual need and respect into something more, something real and alive and glorious. But in many ways, in the dead of night when he was alone, it was yet another weird series of before/after classifications for Tony’s brain to mull over. A distinct line in time, a massive event, which altered his life to the point where the occurrences that came after hardly resembled those that had happened before.

Before Stephen, it would have been nothing to go two weeks without seeing another living soul. He could spend that time inventing all sorts of things in his workshop at the Malibu house. Just surface long enough for the release party or press conference regarding whatever world-shattering new technology he’d pioneered on a coffee high or during an engineering blackout.

 **‘Tony Stark goes off grid and returns to revolutionize the industry’** , isn’t even a news headline. It’s just… a Tuesday occurrence.

Or it was, before Stephen.

Before Stephen, Tony’s hands shaking in the dead of night meant he needed another coffee or another whiskey, or maybe one and then the other. Before Stephen meant powering through the urge to sleep, to take a break, to breathe. Before meant spiraling into his panic attacks, meant burning himself with the soldering iron when his attention drifted, meant worrying the bots and JARVIS but being unable to stop, to slow down, to rest. Meant being ignored by the team, being taken for granted, being talked down to or brushed aside or hailed as the money and nothing more. Before was being alone, with nothing but the work to look forward to, nothing but heartache and isolation to rely on.

But after… After was different. After was a team that had his back, Stephen and Peter and Rhodey. After was finding out about Carol, about Matt, about Luke and Jessica. After was mentoring from a distance, offering support, being a friendly ear. After was also hands-on, teenagers in his lab, monkeying with his tech, cooing over his suits. After meant Tony didn’t get to that burnout, whiskey-soaked solitary point.

After meant Stephen coming to the Mansion or the Tower, letting him work for reasonable amounts of time, and then coaxing him out of the workshop for takeout on the couch. After was sprawling on the sofa with a full belly and a back that didn’t ache, but basking in Stephen’s hands soothingly trailing up and down his spine regardless. After was falling asleep against a lean chest and waking up to lazy blue eyes and a flirty smirking mouth framed by a delicious goatee. After was pinning a Sorcerer to his bed and making an argument that they should never, ever leave.

After was Stephen laughing and admitting that he wasn’t due back in Nepal until the following evening, and was willing to be convinced to see things Tony’s way.

That was After, normally... But currently? 

After was Stephen Strange had been gone for two weeks, and Anthony Stark _missed him_.

Currently, after _sucked_. But normally? Normally it was really, really great.

“Get it together, Stark.” Tony hisses to himself as he shuffles aimlessly around Stephen’s empty New York flat. It might be any other day, at home or here, for Tony is once again wearing a casual shirt and jeans the likes of which he might subject to the workshop or the Sanctum. But his hair is unkempt in a way that telegraphs his restless nights, and the circles under his eyes are dark and distinctive. He refuses to look at himself as he’s reflected in the glass in the frames of the art on the walls, or the full-length windows that span an entire wall of the living area.

Still, he’s at home in this place, barefoot, shoes cast off at the front door. The cool black wood and tile of the entryway, kitchen and living area slightly chilled underfoot. Leaving the kitchen behind as he has no desire to eat or drink, Tony merely glances at the ripe apples in a decorative bowl on the counter and heads for the living area. There are a stately black sofa and two comfortable armchairs arranged in a sitting area, with a coffee table at their heart and a monochrome rug sprawled beneath. Tony lingers there for a moment, running a hand over the sofa’s arm, then shuffles onward.

A sleek modern desk faces the windows, near a power outlet and likely where Strange uses his computer when he’s inclined to do so. Tony stalks past it, ignoring the notebook and papers arranged at the far corners, and warily eyes the empty space on his left. It seems like the space a piano would dominate, but he’s not sure Stephen plays. Even if the sorcerer _did_ ,  before his accident, he has clearly given it up since and sold off the instrument that reminded him of the lost hobby.

The living area doesn’t do much but make Tony sad, now that he’s standing here alone. With a low, disappointed sigh he shuffles on, down the hallway to the master suite. He pushes the door open and shuffles into the room, the carpet underneath his feet thick and a deep charcoal. He scuffs one foot in it, testing the plush give, and makes a contented sound in his throat as he crosses the room to the dresser. Pulling open the topmost door and pawing through the contents, he easily finds a pair of pajama pants and a tee worn to softness.

They smell like Stephen, like a mix of his detergent and cologne and what might be incense or might be magic, hell if Tony even knows. Not that he cares, really, he just knows he likes it. With another approving sound and a deep inhale, Tony strips out of his casual clothes, quickly re-dressing in the sleeping outfit. The pants are too long and the shirt clings to every muscle, but something in him relaxes nonetheless, soothed by the press of Stephen’s scent to his skin. Rubbing a hand over his face and stifling a yawn, Tony pulls down the comforter before crawling into the navy and blue dressed king-sized bed. It’s wide and cool and empty, but the series of pillows at the headboard all smell like Stephen, so the billionaire tucks himself in their midst and lets himself drift off to sleep.

Maybe things will be better when he wakes up.

*


	2. Chapter 2

 

The distant safe harbor of Strange’s loft apartment is like a siren song at the end of a murderously long shift. Deciding that she deserves the utter luxury of silence and coffee and possibly teasing her best friend, Dr. Christine Palmer signs off on the last of her charts, nods to a few of the nurses still standing at the station, and makes her way to the locker room.

Finally, out of sight from both patients and coworkers, Christine scrubs down on autopilot, changes into street clothes, and makes her way out to her car. Taking a moment to enjoy the first solitary minutes she’s had in the last fourteen hours, she leans against her steering wheel for several minutes and just breathes. When the roaring in her ears subsides she takes a deep breath straightens, starting her car and driving to the nearest coffee shop.

She sticks to the drive through but orders herself three cups of coffee and half a dozen pastries and makes her way to Stephen Strange’s apartment with a latte in hand. The cup is empty by the time she parks but she feels human enough to exit, her remaining two coffees snug in their tray and balanced on the box of pastries. Trekking from the parking garage to the elevator seems to take forever, but at least she doesn’t have to wait long for the elevator. Stepping into the thankfully empty space she pushes the correct button and leans against the railing, sipping at her second coffee.

The elevator arrives at the floor moments later, and goods in hand she shuffles her way out of the elevator and down the hall to the front door. The loft takes up the majority of the floor, meaning the dark wood of the front wall is an immediate, welcoming sight. Reluctantly relinquishing her coffee, Christine spends a good two minutes wrestling with her keys in the locked door before she’s able to let herself in.

“Think I’m tired.” She mumbles to herself as she locks the door behind her, peeling off her coat an arm at a time and carefully juggling her breakfast from one side to the other so she can hang the jacket on the coat rack as she passes.

Shuffling into the open floorplan and hanging a sharp right, she pads toward the kitchen with the goal of retrieving a plate for her breakfast. Rounding the corner in the early-morning twilight of the room, Christine freezes, blinking at the sight of the brunet man fiddling with a very shiny, very expensive espresso machine.

Tony Stark stands in Stephen’s kitchen, dark hair all bed-tousled curls, clad in pajama pants that are at least four inches too long and a black tee that clings to the muscles of his back. Not his clothes, then, but Stephen’s. Stephen who stands a few inches taller than Stark, quite a bit leaner, and lacking the muscled shoulders and back she can see on the billionaire. Well, that made sense, didn’t it? Tony was apparently quite an inventor and mechanic. He definitely filled out his boyfriend’s clothing, quite well.

 _‘You probably shouldn’t be making eyes at Stephen’s boyfriend… Even if he isn’t aware that you’re doing it.’_ Christine thinks to herself. As she watches the billionaire he shuffles to one side, retrieving a mug from the cabinet and slotting it into the tray for the machine. There’s a soft hiss of steam and then the heavenly smell of coffee.

“Oh.” Christine mumbles, inhaling sharply when Tony flails and sends the mug to crashing.

The billionaire spins around, eyes wide and wary, left hand dropping to his hips and splaying in a gesture that even Christine can clearly recognize from previous newscasts about Iron Man. There’s a slim watch on his wrist and the faint whir of technology, but otherwise, they stare at each other in panic for several silent moments. Tony’s probably armed, but he’s not pulling any weapons, just staring at her wide-eyed as he breathes rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” Christine finally manages to spit out on a panicked exhale. “I didn’t expect you to be here… That is, Stephen always shows up at about seven-thirty, after I’ve already let myself in. I didn’t know-I-that is-…”

She trails off with a weak laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long shift.”

“Doctor Palmer, wasn’t it?” Tony murmurs, frowning at her faintly and then giving a nod. “Yes, I remember, from Stephen’s old hospital.”

“Yes.” Christine sets down the box and begins gathering ceramic shards. She owes Stephen a new mug, evidently.

“Your standing coffee date,” Tony adds, reaching for paper towels to clean up his spilled coffee. “Forgive me for crashing… It’s just… Well, Stephen’s been gone for two weeks. A magic project that needed his personal attention. Wong updates me when he thinks of it, says he’s alive, but they don’t know when he’ll be able to return.”

“Oh…” Christine murmurs because suddenly the whole morning makes a lot more sense. The reason Tony’s here, that he’s wearing Stephen’s clothing, that he’s making coffee. Casting about for something to say, she finally settles on a snippet of the conversation she remembers having with Stephen. “Last I heard, you were supposed to be cutting back on caffeine?”

Tony curled his lip in a smile that is more sharp than amused, brown eyes dark and still a little wary. “Not you too, Doc.”

It’s a warning, she realizes at once. A wordless gesture that gently encourages her to recall that she does not know this man. This feral-edged, risk-taking billionaire who has multiple doctorates, a company larger than she can conceive of, and a decade’s worth of experience saving the world. He’s done much of it alone, she knows, and though he’s standing here in Stephen’s apartment looking soft he isn’t one to be trifled with.

She hadn’t meant it as a slight, but she can guess that Tony feels vulnerable, feels like his space or at least his privacy has been invaded or compromised. Tony being dressed-down, fallible and human to Stephen was one thing, a private and intimate sort of thing. Something he does for Stephen, with Stephen… And of course, he’d be comfortable here, in his boyfriend’s clothes, in his boyfriend’s apartment. But Christine wasn’t really supposed to see that, wasn’t part of that.

“I can’t help it, it came up.” She shrugs and smiles, attempting to convey that fond ‘your boyfriend never stops talking about you’ air. “You’re Stephen’s favorite subject, you know.”

Wordlessly Tony blinks at her, possibly not quite awake and definitely confused. Christine carries on without hesitation, reaching into one of the cabinets to fetch two plates. “Once I knew, anyway, he seemed to develop difficulty keeping you out of a discussion. Well, come on out to the sofa… I brought pastries, you can help me eat them.”

“If you feed me danishes are you allowed to lecture me about coffee?” Tony murmurs, shuffling gamely after her.

“Whether I am or not, it appears I will anyway. But only because the resident Sorcerer isn't here and I’m worried that I’ll be in trouble with him if I don’t at least check on you. Aren’t you supposed to be drinking tea?”

The billionaire shrugs as he follows her, a mug of coffee in hand. “Tastes better when Stephen’s around.”

 _‘Well, that’s adorable.’_ She thinks to herself. _‘I wonder if Stephen knows that?’_

She wonders if the Doctor-turned-Sorcerer would have any sort of defense against such a statement, or if he’d just go soft-eyed and melt instead. Humming in a noncommittal way Christine tries to hide her smile, setting the box and drink carrier down. Settling herself in her preferred armchair, she pulls out a bear claw and sets it on her plate, sipping at her drink thoughtfully. “I see. So you haven’t been drinking it, while he’s been away?”

“Of course I have.” Tony sighs, setting his coffee down and pilfering a danish before he curls up in a corner of the couch. “I make it out of habit, now… It’s instinctive, automatic, damn him… And the scent is, relaxing, so I drink it.”

“But it tastes better when Stephen’s around.” She echoes, amusement in her tone.

“Yes thank you, I am well aware of how that sounds.” Tony glares at her, expression more pouty than biting, and juts out his lower lip for good measure.

The overall image is an adorable, non-threatening one. The billionaire is sleepy and kittenish, his hair standing upright and his tee too tight and his pants too long. Curled in the corner of Stephen’s sofa, she’s fairly certain there are creases on his cheek from the pillows and she can see the faint hint of burns and ink peppering his arms. Whatever he’s been up to, Tony’s been working hard and sleeping very little, the shadows under his eyes are proof of that.

“Alright then.” Christine shrugs. “So, let’s talk about something other than your caffeine intake and our missing Magician.”

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want to discuss patient issues or casework, not that I’m the correct kind of Doctor to understand it anyway.” Tony teases her lightly. “I’m afraid I’m a bit at a loss as to what you would like to discuss, Dr. Palmer.”

Christine tilts her head for a moment, then smiles. “How about embarrassing stories of Strange in medical school and at social functions?”

“Stephen Strange has embarrassing stories?” Tony visibly perks.

“When he runs into Anthony Stark at Gala Dinners? Most definitely.” Christine replies sagely from behind her cup.

The billionaire looks ridiculously pleased by the idea and leans forward with a flutter of lashes. “My Dear Doctor, tell me more?”

On the whole, Christine finds that her second meeting with Tony Stark is even better than the first.

*

By the time Christine has finished her fourth story and run out of coffee, Anthony Stark is sleeping curled up on the sofa. At some point during the second tale, he pulled a throw blanket out from under the coffee table, wrapped himself into a bundle, and settled in, attention rapt. By the middle of the fourth, however, he’d fallen asleep with his face pressed against the arm of the couch.

Christine lets him be for several minutes, smiling faintly at the picture he makes with the blanket pulled up this chin and his face pressed against the angled black arm of the furniture. Between the way his hair stands up in every direction and the hint of bare feet in too-long pajamas peeking out from under the blanket corner, he’s nothing like the polished businessman or the imposing superhero she’s seen on television.

“Maybe that’s why Stephen likes you so much.” She murmurs softly, taking her cell phone out and snapping a picture.

She sends it to Stephen, he’s sure to see it eventually.

*

When Christine Palmer lets herself out of Stephen Strange's loft, she leaves a sleeping Tony Stark on the sofa. She's fairly certain the billionaire will be just fine, there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting for him when he wakes up. 

Hopefully, he doesn't tell Strange that it was her. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Across the world, in the inner sanctum of Kamar-Taj, Stephen Strange stumbles out of the mirror dimension and slumps against the wall. Wong is there a moment later to catch him, warily eying the doorway until the fractured planes of reality –floating in mid-air like spears of crystal- fold themselves up and vanish. He gives it several heartbeats, then relaxes, reassured by the presence of the Infinity Stone around the Sorcerer’s neck and no sign of trouble.

“Nothing following you out,” Wong remarks, at last, tucking himself under the Sorcerer’s arm. “I trust you were successful.”

“Yes.” Strange murmurs, weary beyond words and grateful for the Master of Hong Kong’s help to a nearby suite of rooms. “How long has it been?”

“In our realm?” Wong asks, shoving open a door and dragging Stephen over to the bed.

“Yes, of course,” Stephen replies, annoyance in his tone at the question. As if he would care about anything else! “Why would I ask about the passage of time outside of the space we currently occupy?”

“Just checking.” Wong murmurs blandly, helping him sit on the edge of the bed.

“I can tell by the way that you’re stalling I’m not going to like the answer.” Strange sighs and collapses onto the mattress, shoulders slumping as he attempts to summon the strength to strip off his boots. “How long?”

“Nearly three weeks, since you left.” Wong murmurs, sounding solemn now as he shoves a cup of tea into the Sorcerer Supremes’ hands and tilting it forcefully. “Drink quickly, then you can pass out.”

Half-way through the mug of restorative tea, Stephen chokes and splutters as his brain finally processes what was said. “Wait. Three… three _weeks_?”

Wong grunts wordlessly, pouring more tea into the cup and giving it an encouraging tilt when Stephen fails to drink it. “Three weeks in the regular world, yes. As you have been in the Mirror Dimension fighting enemies for that time, you could at least drink your tea.”

“But, three weeks!” Strange hisses. “What have I missed?”

“Nothing that you can undo by fretting about,” Wong growls. “So what is the harm if you know of it now or after you sleep for twelve hours? At any rate: Drink. The. Tea.”

“Wong!”

“Stephen,” Wong replies without inflection, his face a bland mask of the unimpressed. “Drink your tea, sleep. When you wake up, shower, drink more tea, eat something, and then we will talk about what you missed.”

“But I- three weeks.” Stephen trails off, swearing under his breath, and strains to sit upright. “I have to check in with the Defenders, with the Avengers team, with-”

He barely manages to sit upright before swaying abruptly and melting back down with a distressed noise.

Wong tsks, taps at the mug until he finishes it, and gives a nod. “I told you, but you insist on pushing it. Strange, the magic comes from outside you; that is true. You work to harness it, but it is still work. It is still strain on your body, and like it or not, it’s been three weeks since you’ve rested, slept or hydrated adequately. While that time may have been spent in the mirror realm and you’re not dead from dehydration, the properties of that other realm only get you so far. Your body is nearly out of resources. So drink, rest, eat.”

Stephen tries to sit up until the other Master pins his shoulder with a hand, shaking his head. “No, but… Tony-”

“Can wait until after you have rested, Stephen.” Wong chides neutrally, barely exerting any pressure. Unsurprisingly, the Sorcerer Supreme is willfully ignoring his current exhaustion, so Wong pushes him again to get his attention. “I will bring you fruit and something to drink when you wake. Rest for a while, the Cloak will stand watch and all things are quiet at Kamar-Taj at this time. No Sanctums are under attack, but we need the Sorcerer Supreme back on his feet soon.”

“I have to go see Tony.” Stephen remains sprawled under his hand, eyes half-lidded, but the tension in his arms telegraph his need to sit upright and resume movement.

“You are in no place or condition to portal halfway across the world.” Wong sighs, exasperation clear. “Just sleep.”

Stephen means to argue, but he’s drifting off before he even realizes it.

*

Stephen Strange wakes in a dark room, with a solitary oil lamp and a covered plate waiting on his bedside table. There’s also a pitcher of water and a glass, as well as a covered mug that likely has more of the restorative tea in it. They’re the only trace of Wong, and other than the Cloak near the foot of the bed Stephen is alone.

There’s no telling how long he slept, though it’s probably a significant amount given how drained he had been. Even with the mug of tea before he went under, his body was strained and his resources depleted. Based on that, Stephen guesses it’s been hours since he arrived at Kamar-Taj. All he knows for certain is that one moment he’s out, the next he’s in his Astral form, sitting up on the bed. He leaves his body behind, finding his feet and pacing carefully past where the Cloak hovers protectively near the door.

The collar turns as though it senses something, but it gives a faint shrug and lets him pass without notice. Stephen holds his breath until he’s passed through the door of the room and into the empty hall, sighing softly at the sight of lit lanterns and no foot-traffic. It’s likely the dead of night, or Wong has threatened everyone until they avoid this hall so Stephen can rest. Either is possible, and he gives the thought a faint smile before he concentrates on the distant pulse of a focus, and _leaps_ toward it.

*

The lapis sits, smug and quiet and glowing faintly to Stephen’s vision, on Tony’s worktable in the lab of Stark Tower. In his astral form, Stephen can feel the pull of it, a soft hum of energy that attracts him. He’s certain if he were there in person there would be no glow to it, but the hum of the energy it holds, that he would notice. Regardless, it sings of Tony’s energy and glints on this plane like a beacon.

 _‘Tony, what have you been up to?’_ Stephen wonders as he considers the stone for another moment.

He had suspected, of course, that the billionaire would benefit from the presence of the stone… but he honestly hadn’t considered that Tony would be able to charge it like this. Finally, he reaches out to it, ghosting his fingertips through it and shivering when warmth surges up his arm. It doesn’t hurt, but it roars through him like a wave and he can see his astral form grow more solid, the outline of his hands strengthening even as the glow of the lapis grows dimmer.

An intentional focus or not, the lapis has been soaking up energies and waiting. When compatible energy touched it, the excess was easily siphoned off into Stephen’s rapidly flagging reserves. He feels his strength rush back, shaking his head as it results in a dizzying sort of rush. There’s a faint crackle like electricity, he can almost feel it even in his astral form. Tony’s energy is, well, dazzling. On the one hand, he wants to bring up Tony’s gifts with Wong, on the other he wants a chance to teach the billionaire himself.

But those are thoughts for another time. Right now he has to find Tony, and honestly, this had been his best bet. The location had resonated most with his imprint of Tony, so he had thought he would find himself beside his boyfriend. While it was certainly something of a delight to find the lapis, and to be able to siphon some of the energy off for his own use, it didn’t really satisfy.

Frowning, Stephen closes his eyes and focuses again, one hand reaching out to the lapis once more. The stone is largely passive under his not-quite touch, but energy spikes, twining through his fingers and marching up his arm. With focus, it calls to like, and he finds his attention and then his astral shape dragged across the city to his own loft.

Opening his eyes in his living room, Stephen frowns to himself. His hand still tingles from the touch of the focused energy, fingertips edged in gold. He almost thinks that it was a mistake, that he did something wrong, but there’s an answering pull from the bedroom.

 _‘Tony?’_ He wonders, pacing down the short hall and through the open door.

He freezes in the doorway, staring at the figure curled in the middle of his bed. Tony Stark sleeps in Stephen’s clothes, one tan arm sprawled over a dark blue pillow, face half-buried into another. Tony’s hair is a riot of curls, tumbled carelessly in his sleep, his face relaxed in sleep and breathing deep and steady.

No nightmares and no all-night spree in the shop, it’s better than Stephen would have thought to expect.

The fact that the billionaire is asleep in his bed is, unexpected.

Endearing beyond all reason, too.

Stephen perches on the edge of the bed, one hand reaching out to skate over Tony’s dark hair. He can’t touch him in this form, but he can’t quite make himself leave either.

As a compromise, he stays and watches till dawn, and when Tony rolls over with the faint lines of the pillowcase marring his cheek, Stephen leaps back toward his body at Kamar-Taj. He needs food, and his body, and he needs to get back to Tony.


End file.
